


Not That Kind of Bad Wolf

by JungleJelly



Series: Lona's Secret Pumpkin [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Monster of the Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 15:02:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5168252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JungleJelly/pseuds/JungleJelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Stiles lost Derek to pop culture references, and one time he didn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not That Kind of Bad Wolf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lonaargh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lonaargh/gifts).



> This story takes place at the end of senior year, in a universe where S4 happened in a more logical, less shitty way. And also, Derek is the alpha because I said so.
> 
> A round of applause for [Stilienski](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Stilienski/pseuds/), fastest beta in the world (like we didn't know that already) and a constant source of inspiration no matter how much she'll deny it.

1.

Well, this wasn’t the way Stiles had planned to spend his Saturday, he thought as he dodged a flying piece of scrap metal.

He was currently being chased by an as-of-yet-unidentified creature, because clearly Stiles looked edible enough that the freaking thing would choose _him_ for a tasty snack instead of any of the other people occupying the warehouse.

The warehouse. Because, again, evil monsters from hell seemed to like clichés, so why the hell not? And so there they were. The puny human being hunted by aforementioned-unknown-creature in a dark, isolated warehouse. Pffft. How disappointingly stereotypical.

Things had gotten pretty quiet in Beacon Hills after the first few months of werewolfy madness, but they still got the occasional visitors. They were always dispatched quickly, though, thanks to Stiles & Friends’ newfound unity. Shared hardship creates bonds, after all, however unwilling — and these days, they were close enough that they could actually call themselves a pack.

Apparently, this latest batch of trespassers hadn’t gotten the memo.

“Scott!” Stiles shouted, running toward his friend and leaping over a crate. “I thought you said Derek was on his way!”

Scott, claws extended and fangs out, turned slightly towards Stiles but kept an eye on the group of — ...what? gremlins? — in front of him. “He is! He said he would be here in ten minutes!” He took a swipe at Stiles’s pursuer when they whizzed past him and missed by a few inches. “He’ll probably get here any second now!”

“Yeah, well, he’d better move it or the only thing he’s going to find when he arrives is Stiles confetti! Have you _seen_ the claws on these things?!”

He was interrupted by a feminine battle cry coming from the stack of wooden boxes to his right, followed by the blurry sight of Kira jumping towards him and landing between him and his assailant. Stiles skidded to a halt and turned. Watching Kira kick ass with her katana and sheer badassery was one of those things that never got old.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” she panted, slashing at the air to keep the — goblins…? — away. “Me and Scott can protect you, you just need to stay close to us while we wait for Derek to arrive.”

Stiles frowned. “Protect me. Right. Thanks for reminding me exactly how useless I am, Kira.”

“Come on, man, you know that’s not what she meant.” Scott landed squarely on Stiles’s other side and sliced at a gnarly, grey-greenish limb that had been getting a little too close for comfort. The creature screeched and hopped backwards. This seemed to excite its little monster-buddies further, since they all suddenly erupted in a cacophony of ear-splitting shrieks and conglomerated around the three teenagers.

Stiles looked around helplessly. “Okay, what the hell? Are they multiplying or something? I swear there weren’t that many of them five minutes ago. I don’t think one katana and one pair of claws are going to cut it, guys.” He snickered. “Get it? They’re not going to _cut it_ even though—”

“We get it, Stiles,” Scott said a little hysterically, and couldn’t he be a little more sympathetic to the helpless human, here? Worst best friend ever.

“No, but really, now would be a good time for Derek to make his grand appearance.” He jumped and tried to snatch his arm back when he felt one of the little shits grab it, and the thing skittered back with a startled squeak when Scott turned his glowing eyes on it. Okay, so he was an adequate best friend. Sometimes. Maybe.

It was barely a second later that a deafening roar sounded in the air, as if the very mention of him had summoned the alpha.

In a second, Derek had reached the little group and was crouched in front of them. He didn’t say anything, but his head was turned slightly so he could do a quick check and see for himself that his pack was safe. Stiles exhaled in relief.

Kira was the first to react. “We have no idea what they are, but Derek, be careful. They have incredibly sharp claws and they’re practically untouchable.”

“And they’re fast,” Stiles added, “faster than you can believe. Don’t blink, don’t even blink. Blink and you’re dead.” Scott turned to frown at him, but Stiles ignored him and grinned. He didn’t care. Derek was here; they were safe. “Don’t turn your back, don’t look away, _and don’t. Blink_.” He looked Derek in the eyes, fighting to make his expression solemn. “Good luck.”

The alpha stared at him, perplexed.

Kira rolled her eyes. “Really, Stiles? Really?” She readied her stance once more; the horde of gremlins-goblins-whatever, while they had scattered in a squeaky panic after Derek’s roar, had rallied again and were starting to press in on them. “Now is _not_ the time for your nerdy jokes! Don’t listen to him, Derek, he’s just being an idiot. I mean, yeah, those things are really fast, but it’s nothing we can’t handle.”

Derek still looked mildly disturbed, but he nodded and turned his gaze forwards. Stiles huffed. “Killjoys, all of you. I need to find myself a new pack,” he lamented while he accepted the wooden plank Scott had found who-knew-where and was now handing him. Pretty useless, as far as goblin-maiming weapons went, but oh well. Better than nothing.

Derek hunched in on himself and his form started to shudder. Stiles grinned. This was his favorite part.

An enormous black wolf emerged a few moments later, and the four companions surged towards their foes, war cries ringing in the air alongside the guttural howl of the alpha.

 

\---

 

2.

So, apparently, the leathery little monsters they had faced off against in the warehouse were imps.

“...Imps?”

“I know, right?! That shit is getting biblical!” Stiles gesticulated. “Imps! I mean, what next? Old-Testament-style demons? Satan himself?”

“This isn’t _Supernatural_ , Stiles,” Derek scowled. “The Devil isn’t real.”

Stiles flopped back on his desk chair. “I know, I know. But… still! This is freaky, man.” He thought for a moment. “Nice, by the way. Making TV show references and everything, almost like a real, well-adjusted 21st-century human being! You go, Derek!”

The alpha sighed. “What makes you even think they’re imps, if you say it’s so far-fetched now?”

“Well, for starters, they look like overgrown raisins with giant bat ears, so that’s a pretty good indication. Then there’s the screeching…” he trailed off, watching Derek wince at the memory. “Yeah, that must have been hard on your eardrums. Sorry, man. Anyway, there’s also the number of the little buggers and the way it seemed like they kept multiplying, which apparently is a thing with imps. But, really, the biggest clue was the way they just all fled at the end.”

Derek frowned. “They fled because we were kicking their ass.”

“No, I mean, yes, but… it’s the _way_ they did it. All at once, and everything. Like they had a hive mind, you know? Or, actually, it’s more likely that they all heard something at that moment and were just... following instructions, I guess.”

“Instructions?” The frown deepened. “And they couldn’t have heard anything; there was no sound other than us fighting. I would have noticed.”

“Yeah, but see, that’s the thing. You couldn’t have noticed it because it was _in their heads_.”

Derek stared. Stiles practically vibrated with excitement. The silenced stretched for a few moments, and then—

“...What?”

“Witches!” It practically burst from the teen’s mouth, he was so agitated. “Witches, man!”

Derek gave him a stern look. “Explain.”

“Okay, well, it goes like this.” Stiles got up and began pacing in the limited room between his desk and his bed. “Imps are familiars. They’re creatures that witches keep as a source of power, basically. They can summon them, control them, and I guess also stow them away somewhere when they’re finished with them? Like, I don’t know, some kind of limbo for magical pests…” He stopped and looked at Derek. “Anyway, like you said, they fled when we started really kicking their asses. That’s a little weird, right, how they just turned around from one moment to the next? So for me, the most likely theory is that the witch controlling them didn’t like those odds and sounded the retreat.”

The werewolf narrowed his eyes and mulled over this information, while Stiles continued fidgeting and tried to give him space to think. Finally he arrived at the same inevitable conclusion.

“Why would a witch attack the pack? And why would she send her minions after us, only to make them draw back later?”

Stiles sighed and sprawled in his chair again, his head hanging from the backrest and his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I guess it has something to do with the Nemeton, if the last time we had a witch on our land is any indication.” He didn’t miss Derek slightly tensing up in the corner of his eye. Of course the alpha would hate the reminder of what had happened that time. But then, it wasn’t as if the whole Darach business didn’t hold some horrific memories for Stiles, too. He took a breath and continued. “She probably wants to get her hands on the residual power. I mean, the damn thing is broadcasting all over the place, now, right? It was bound to draw some supernatural attention again sooner or later. And as for the way the imps ran away last night… I may have a theory. Kind of.” When the alpha didn’t say anything, just stared at him expectantly, he carried on. “I think it’s because of you. Not, like, because you would have ripped them to shreds with your majestic maw and claws — not that you wouldn’t have! — just, I think it’s because she didn’t want to hurt you. Damage you.” At Derek’s dubious look, he explained. “No, really. You couldn’t have noticed because you weren’t there, but things were different before you got to the warehouse. The gremlins — sorry, imps — they were really out for our blood, like, I’m still not sure how I got out of there with only a few scratches. But the point is, as soon as you shifted into your wolf, it was like they realized who you were and suddenly didn’t want to fight anymore. So I’m thinking, what if you’re a part of their plan? What if the witch needs you alive and unharmed, or something? I’m telling you, it makes sense!”

Derek grunted, still looking unconvinced but willing to at least entertain the suggestion. “And what could they need me for, since apparently you’re the expert on supernatural strategy now?”

“Well, I’m not entirely sure,” he replied, and there it was, Derek’s mocking glare. “Shut up! I have an idea, okay, it’s just… a little weird?... yeah. Here it is: I think, maybe, the witch wants you for your name. Your magic werewolf Hale legacy, or whatever.”

Silence.

“Okay, let me explain a little better. This is Hale land, yes? Has been for generations? So, that means Hale heirs are tied to Beacon Hills, and also to its inherent power, like the Nemeton. And you’re the alpha now. I mean, if anything, it has to be worse in your case, because of, um…” he trailed off. _Paige_. Probably not a good idea to bring that up. He scrambled for something to say. “So, anyway! Yeah. There’s probably something in your connection to the Nemeton that a witch can use to her advantage.”

In front of him, Derek’s expression went from disbelieving, to horrified, to resigned. He rubbed his hands over his face, exhaling deeply. Stiles wanted to wrap him in a blanket and cuddle him until he stopped looking so dejected.

“I don’t have magic, though. I don’t know any secret spells, recipes, rituals, whatever.”

“Dude, you’re a _werewolf_. How is that not magical? Besides, you don’t have to be a witch or a warlock to have magic in you. Just look at me, I can manipulate mystical powders and stuff even though I’ve never cast a spell in my life. Deaton explained this to me a while ago. Magic isn’t necessarily limited to its more powerful or visible users, it’s… spread out like a web? You know, more like… ” he floundered, gesturing in vague shapes with his hands, “a big ball of… wibbly wobbly, timey wimey... stuff.”

The alpha frowned. “Timey… what?”

“Oh come on!” Stiles threw his hands in the air. “You know _Supernatural_ , but you don’t know _Doctor Who_? That’s like, the most famous line ever!”

Blank stare.

“I give up,” Stiles said as he swiveled back towards his laptop. Time for more research into the occult practices of imp-conjuring sorcerers.

 

\---

 

3\. 

Stiles was walking down the street. The dark, deserted street, because where would be the fun in walking down a well-lit and busy street? No, this was way better, obviously. Especially if you were hoping to catch a witch.

The pack hadn’t seen her yet, but they were hoping that she’d finally show her face if she was presented with an opportunity to get rid of some of them. And this was definitely one such opportunity, practically served on a silver platter. Well, not really, because Scott and Derek were tailing Stiles from a distance — but she wouldn’t know that. They were too good at this silent stalking thing — and who knew that would ever actually become a comforting thought?

Anyway. This little stroll was getting boring, but Stiles plowed on, pretending to be on a secret mission to an equally secret destination and hoping it would be enough to pique the witch’s interest.

He was just turning a corner when he saw a shadow in the corner of his vision. _Finally!_ He kept walking, affecting a furtive demeanor and holding back the urge to look around in order to locate the witch. He passed a garbage container, and at last, there she was, appearing in his path from one second to the next like a freaking ghost. Stiles didn’t even have to fake his jump, nor the startled squeak that escaped his lips (shut up, that shit was scary).

“Well,” she drawled, “what have we here?”

Stiles stared. Did she really just say that? Wow, the lady seriously needed to take lessons in creative villain speech.

“Uh…” He needed to buy a few seconds to allow the others to catch up and position themselves. _Keep her talking_ , he thought. Easy enough. Just pretend to be clueless, and the baddies couldn’t help but brag — worked every time. He made wide eyes at her and took a half-step back. “...Hi? Who are you?”

She smirked. “Cute. You don’t need to play dumb with me, I know you’re not as stupid as you look.”

...Well. Maybe not _every_ time, then. Time to drop the act.

“Ah, you caught me. Guess I should work on looking even more stupid then. Would that work, do you think?”

“I think you won’t get to experiment on that unless you answer my questions.” Wow, okay, straight to business then. “Now, tell me, where were you headed?”

Stiles watched as a dark shape stealthily approached them from behind the unaware woman. He thought he spied movement on the other side, too, but he couldn’t be sure. The guys had really gotten a lot better at this, he thought proudly, before redirecting his attention to the witch. He answered her smirk with a devious smile of his own.

“Well, you know, I was on my way to this gay gipsy bar mitzvah for the disabled, when I suddenly thought; gosh, the third Reich’s a bit rubbish, I think I’ll kill the Führer.”

The witch’s eye twitched. “What was that?”

“Yeah, Stiles, what was that?” Scott complained as he appeared at her shoulder. She started, her eyes widening, but before she could so much as lift a finger, Derek had tugged her arms behind her back and immobilized her with a threatening growl. When it was clear she wouldn’t try anything, he lifted a quizzical eyebrow in Stiles’s direction.

The teen in question looked at the three of them in turn, taking in their puzzled expressions. “Really, even you, Yzma? Awww, man. Nobody appreciates my references.”

Derek turned to look a Scott. Scott shrugged. The witch got an expression on her face that said she couldn’t believe she had let herself be caught by such a band of morons.

Stiles pouted. “Whatever,” he said, turning around and starting to walk in the direction of the loft. “Let’s just get her home and chained up so we can put this behind us.”

 

\---

 

4\. 

So they had the witch under control, magical shackles containing her power and sturdy ropes restricting her movement at all times. Not to mention the group of werewolves and other creatures (and one badass human) keeping constant watch over her at Derek’s.

Sadly, what they had failed to consider was the small army of imps that was now freely roaming Beacon County.

They had assumed that the creatures would stay in whatever parallel dimension they inhabited when the witch wasn’t using them for something or other; except that, apparently, the manacles had broken her control on the little monsters and they had been released into the world with no direction to follow. Which… wasn’t such a good plan, as it turned out. They went around randomly attacking people; a couple hikers in the woods, one homeless guy in the industrial district, several pets from the residential neighborhood, and an old lady who was out late at night looking for her cat (judging from the evidence, though, Stiles was pretty sure she wasn’t going to find Mr. Bubbles any time soon. Poor little guy).

Anyway, the horde was wreaking havoc on the area and the pack had been dispatched on an urgent mission to neutralize the threat and save the blissfully unsuspecting citizens of Beacon Hills.

Which was why Stiles was currently running for his life. Again. In the woods.

“Dereeeeeek!” He yelled, sprinting between the tree roots and praying that he wouldn’t get tripped up by one and end up flat on his face. A howl answered him from somewhere on the left. Stiles took it through his wolf-translator and concluded that the alpha must have said something along the lines of “Busy, Stiles! I’m trying to get rid of ten or twenty of the little shits myself, so try not to get killed in the time it takes me to reach you”. _Rude!_

He heard one of the creatures give a maniacal cackle behind him and ducked. Just in time, too, because he saw a fireball crash into the tree he’d been standing in front of. Thankfully, it didn’t seem as though the tree would catch fire from it — there was a brief fizzle along the bark, and then the trunk was sporting a brand new scorch mark. _Right_ , he thought. _Fireballs. Because these little demons weren’t destructive enough already_. “Um, guys?” He called. “You know they spit fire, right?”

He didn’t get an answer, other than the sounds of several werewolves having it out with a veritable mob of miniature monsters. He started running again.

So apparently, the imps being free from the witch’s control meant that they could spew fiery projectiles, now. If only they had known that before incapacitating the witch… Oh well. No use crying over spilled milk. _Spilled intestines, on the other hand, would be problematic_ , Stiles mused as he skidded to avoid an oncoming imp with its gnarled little arm raised and its (seriously disproportionate) claws extended towards Stiles’s midsection. Precious innards saved (for now), he turned away and took off again, zigzagging between tree trunks to try and disorient his pursuers.

It seemed to work for a while, but just as he thought he might get a moment’s respite, he heard a crackle alarmingly close to his head. _Oh no_ , he thought as he turned his gaze towards the sound. There was no way he could dodge that, not in time. He barely had time to screw his eyes shut before the wind was knocked out of him and he was sent crashing to the floor, a heavy weight landing on top of him. Not two seconds later, he heard a snarl coming from above and opened his eyes to see what looked like a Scott-shaped blur tackle the imp and tear into it with his claws.

_Not dead yet, then. Good. That’s good_. Able to focus on less immediate concerns, Stiles tried to dislodge the anvil on his chest, without success. He spit a few hairs out of his mouth and craned his neck. “Derek, buddy, wanna let me up sometime this century?”

The werewolf didn’t react, except to bury his nose further into Stiles’s neck and to squeeze his hands harder around his ribcage. The teen stilled.

Was Derek…? No. No way.

The alpha’s nose brushed under Stiles’s jaw, and he seemed to relax fractionally at the same time that he gave a little sigh. Stiles stared straight ahead, not really seeing the canopy above him or even hearing the sounds of fangs ripping flesh not five meters away. Holy shit. _Holy shit_. Derek was sniffing him! He was totally, absolutely sniffing him and petting him and — and — and _cuddling_ him after he’d saved his life! Oh, this was too good. There was no way Stiles would be able to keep his Derek-centered feelings in check now.

He tried to shift his body so he could wrap his arms around the werewolf and — oh. _Oh. Interesting_. He felt one corner of his mouth lift in an incredulous smile.

“Why, Derek, is that a sonic screwdriver in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

_No! Nonononono that wasn’t_ —

The alpha stiffened above him, and a nanosecond later he was on his feet and walking away from Stiles without a backwards glance. _Stupid mouth! Stupid, stupid..._ Stiles closed his eyes and knocked his head back on the forest floor repeatedly.

_Nice job, Stilinski._

 

\---

 

5.

As it turned out, it wasn’t actually that hard to get into Derek’s pants once you knew he wanted you there.

After the imp-cleaning debacle in the forest, it had only taken a few days for Stiles to gather his courage and for Derek to get his head out of his ass, and then they were back on track. Stiles had barged into the loft one afternoon, demanding answers and also maybe if they could make out that would be really awesome, please and thank you.

And then, well. They hadn’t lost any more time, so to speak. There had been making out, as requested. There had also been a lot of cuddling, both the human and the werewolfy versions (“Ha! I _knew_ you were sniffing me the other day, sappywolf!”). And, most importantly, there had been foreplay and fooling around; because, as Stiles had had to remind Derek multiple times before he’d agree, he was legal now and he could damn well put his dick wherever he wanted, thank you very much. But they hadn’t gone all the way yet — until now.

“No, I think you’d be more comfortable on your stomach.”

“But I want to see you!” Stiles whined, pushing out his bottom lip and casting a pleading look at Derek. The alpha showed no reaction other than a raised eyebrow. Stiles huffed. “Okay, okay, I’ll just—” He turned around, his front pressed against the mattress and his ass on display in all its naked glory. “But next time, we’re doing it the other way,” he insisted.

Derek just nodded and shuffled closer. “Whatever you want.”

Then he got his hands on Stiles and neither of them talked for a while, too busy exploring and getting ready for what promised to be a mind-blowing first time. The room was silent but for the sighs and moans they couldn’t help making, until—

“Come on, Derek, I’m ready!”

“No, you’re not. I barely have two fingers in there, that’s not nearly enough preparation.”

Stiles whimpered. “Derek, please! I swear, I’m ready! We’ve done this bit before, how different can it be—”

“Stiles, don’t be ridiculous. You’ve seen me, do you really think a couple fingers can prepare you for my—”

“Yes! I do!” He hissed when Derek’s fingers crooked in a way that sent a shiver up his spine. “Come _on_ , put your dick in me already!”

“Romantic,” was the sardonic reply. “I’m not _‘putting my dick in you’_ yet, Stiles, drop it. You need to loosen up some more.”

“Derek, stop worrying so much! I’m telling you, it’s bigger on the inside!” At that, the werewolf stopped his movements. Stiles couldn’t see Derek’s face from his position, but he could practically feel the frown on the alpha’s face.

“...That makes no sense.”

Stiles dropped his head on his folded arms and groaned. 

“Dude, we really need to get you a TV.”

 

\---

 

+1.

Stiles’s life was pretty good. Or, more accurately, you could say that it was pretty fucking magnificent right now. Senior year was almost over, the pack had managed to get rid of all the baddies, everyone was happy, and Stiles had snagged himself a smoking hot boyfriend.

Yep. Boyfriend. He grinned at the thought, not even caring that the checkout clerk was giving him a weird look. They were having a movie night tonight, just the two of them. Stiles was in charge of food and drinks, and Derek picked the movies.

Never losing his goofy grin, he paid for his purchases and stashed them in his backpack before waving to the clerk and leaving the store. As he walked toward the Jeep, he felt his smile soften into something more tender. Just six weeks into their relationship, and he and Derek had already established a little routine. Movie nights happened weekly, every Wednesday like clockwork. Ostensibly, it was so that Stiles didn’t get lonely when the sheriff had night shifts at the station. In reality, though — and there wasn’t anyone who didn’t know this — it was just one more excuse for Stiles to cuddle up close to Derek and shower him with the affection he couldn’t believe he’d held back all this time. Really, the alpha was just a giant teddy bear; it was a wonder the pack didn’t spend half their time in blissful, snuggly puppy piles.

Stiles headed home, anticipating a night of quiet and warmth with his very own sourwolf.

Derek was waiting for him when he arrived, already settled on the couch with the remote in hand. He turned his head and gave Stiles a small, welcoming smile.

“Hey,” Stiles said, quickly divesting himself of his shoes and spreading his bounty on the coffee table before jumping on the couch next to his boyfriend. “So, what are we watching?”

Derek silently handed him a DVD case. Stiles whooped. “Doctor Who, seriously?” He looked up, grinning. “About time you saw this, dude! But this is, like, season six, though… Are you sure you don’t want to start at the beginning?” He sent a questioning look at Derek.

“What makes you think I haven’t seen the beginning?”

He was smirking, the bastard. “Well, I don’t know, have you?”

Derek’s smile gentled. He reached forward and took Stiles’s face in his hands, his thumbs brushing his cheeks, and leaned in until he could nuzzle their noses together.

“Hello, sweetie.”

**Author's Note:**

> EeeEeEEEeeeEEeeeee it’s DONE! Finally!
> 
> If the plot seems a little (a lot) flimsy, well. That's because it is. I really just wanted an excuse to write DW jokes in a TW fic.
> 
> I seriously cannot believe that I wrote a sex scene, however undetailed. The things you make me do, T folks.
> 
> Lona, I’m sorry for ruining Doctor Who for you.  
> (Not really.)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Lay Your Weary Head To Rest](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13685700) by [JungleJelly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JungleJelly/pseuds/JungleJelly)




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